The Collected Adventures
by Book girl fan
Summary: Just a collection of drabbles and short stories. May not be updated often.
1. Phone Call

**This was inspired by Arisprite's _Sketches Of Baker Street, _specifically, sentence 45: Lose. I suggest that you go and read it, because it's really good. **

"Mycroft-"

A choked sob.

"He's gone, Mycroft. I couldn't get there in time. It's all my fault! I should have been faster!"

More sobbing. Mycroft stayed quiet, out of his depth in such an emotional situation.

A deep breath.

"It's just so sudden. We were on a case, and he had a gun, and he jumped in front of me, and - and he was shot, and now he's just gone!"

Another deep breath.

"Tell Mrs Hudson, Mycroft. She needs to know, and I'm not leaving. Not yet. Goodbye Mycroft."

The line went dead and Mycroft quietly hung up the phone.


	2. Bride

**My first 221B! **

This was the best day of my life. Mary Morstan had consented to be my wife, and today we were to be wed. I stood at the altar, Sherlock Holmes at my side. To my gratification, he had consented to be my best man.

The doors opened, and Mary came out and started walking down the aisle. I was struck at once by her beauty. She wore white, following the Queen's new tradition. Her blonde hair was resting freely on her shoulders, and her blue eyes shone brightly. I could hardly believe that this beautiful creature was soon to be my wife.

She came to stand beside me at the altar. The priest began to speak. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of John Hamish Watson and Mary Morstan in holy matrimony..."

I must confess, I did not pay full attention to the priest. Mary was standing beside me, and I was anticipating the moment that she would be mine. After the whole affair of the Sign of Four, I feared that she would be too rich to consider marrying a poor man like me. Fortunately for me, the treasure was lost, and she agreed to be my wife. My happiness was complete.

Finally, the words I had been waiting for. "You may kiss the bride."


	3. Superior Officer

**This was prompted by KCS's Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes**

**#14 – Command**

**The weeping, mist-shrouded man was centered in his air-rifle sights before he realised he could not – would not – shoot a fellow soldier who had also just lost a comrade and superior officer.**

I look down the rocks at the grieving man below me, aim steady, thoughts rushing through my head. This is a man who has obviously just lost everything. My orders were to kill him if Holmes lived, but I can not. What has the man done, to deserve death? He had followed his commanding officer, obeyed the orders given, and been faithful to the last. I can not reward such loyal service with death.

I lower my gun. The man does not deserve to die for following orders. I will wait until he is gone, before I kill Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Picture

**This was prompted by KCS's Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes (again!), specifically #20-Picture. **

* * *

He leant back in his chair, eyes wandering around the room, coming to rest on the picture on the mantel. His flawless memory made photographs entirely unnecessary, yet he kept the picture anyway. His gaze drifted to the desk. Another photograph sat there, and was similarly purposeless. Why did he keep these photos?

He clasped his hands, deep in thought. Why should he keep those photographs, he knew them perfectly. Such sentiment would be uncharacteristic of him. Yet, it seemed so. Finally, it came to him. He kept those pictures as a testament, to the two people he respected most.


	5. Mad

**Thanks to mrspencil, who has inspired me to get this chapter up today, and KCS, whose 'Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes' has inspired me yet again, this time with sentence #22-Mad. **

**This is from Lestrade's point of view. **

* * *

Why anyone would want to room with Sherlock Holmes I'll never know, but somehow, he got himself a flatmate. A Doctor John Watson was with him during that Jefferson Hope affair in '81, and the lads at the station took bets on how long he would last. I didn't think he would last long. An old soldier wouldn't be able to stand Mr Holmes. We at the Yard could hardly stand him, and we only had to see him on cases!

After six weeks the man was still there, and I had to wonder if he was sane. Anyone else would have left after the first week, yet here he was. Even more extraordinary, Mr Holmes seemed to actually like him!

After the first six months I was sure. The man must be mad. He had not only stayed with Sherlock Holmes, but actually seemed to enjoy it! The final proof came when I saw them in the park one afternoon, strolling along, arm in arm. Anyone who would do that had to be crazy, there was no other explanation.

I have known Dr Watson for fifteen years now, and a better man I have never known. He has endured more than any man should, and survived. On some days, however, I still think he and Sherlock Holmes belong in Bedlam!


	6. Bang

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed my small collection of pieces here. I'm so glad of all the encouragement! **

* * *

"Nothing interesting in the papers then, Holmes?"

"Absolutely nothing Watson! When did London criminals become so dull? We haven't had an interesting case in weeks."

"I thought the Highmore case rather intriguing, actually. Quite a puzzle."

"It was simplicity itself, Watson. It was obvious from the feathers on her shoe. Anyway, there is now nothing to do, but for me to go back to my scientific puzzles."

"I figured as much, when I saw you at your chemical corner. Is that substance meant to be such an interesting purple? Holmes?"

"What is it, Watson?"

"That purple, Ho- Look out!"

BANG!


	7. Painful Lesson

**Once again, thanks to KCS'S 'Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes' for inspiration. This one is based of sentence 35: Sudden. Andrew Wilkins is mine, much to my displeasure. Please don't use him without my permission. **

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed!**

* * *

"That Dr Watson's stories, are they? Never really thought much of them. I prefer a decent piece of writing myself, rather than that claptrap. I would be offended to be associated with it, if I were you," Andrew Wilkins finished with a sneer. He had come to consult Sherlock Holmes on a case, and the Strand issues on the shelf had caught his eye.

"Fortunately, you are not me. Please keep your opinions to yourself, Mr Wilkins, and stick to the facts." The detective scowled at his unpleasant guest, being very grateful that Watson was out, and could not hear the conversation.

"I'm just saying, I have no idea why you put up with such moronic drivel."

Much to his surprise, the detective stood up and gestured to the door. "Your case is uninteresting, and your manner is unpleasant. Leave these rooms at once."

"This is a very important case," Wilkins blustered. "It cannot be disregarded like this, Mr Holmes!"

"That is where you are wrong. If you cannot remain civil, I must ask you to leave."

"I shall, as I have no intention of staying here and being insulted. Maybe that stupid writing is all you deserve." With this parting shot, Wilkins turned to leave, but found his way blocked by an irate consulting detective.

When Wilkins went to Scotland Yard to complain, the constable in charge advised him to be glad he had only a bloody nose to show for his comments, and quite politely told him that if he would not keep his opinions of the Mr Holmes and Dr Watson to himself, the Yard would be happy to add to his injuries.

Needless to say, Wilkins left rather quickly after that, and was not heard of at the Yard or 221B again.


	8. My Friend

**This is not strictly a Drabble, as it is actually 118 words, but I couldn't pare it down, and I didn't want to disregard it altogether. I'm posting it anyway.**

* * *

The case of the Speckled Band, as Watson romatically named it, alarmed Holmes by showing him the true extent of Watson's regard for him. Why would the doctor risk his life on such a foolhardy venture, simply because he was asked?

Holmes pondered the question, but could not find an answer. He was used to such risks as a part of his profession, but Watson was not, and need not have come. So why had he?

In his confusion, Holmes asked Watson why he had not just let him go alone. Watson looked at Holmes, and replied, a smile on his face, "Because, Holmes, you are my friend, and I will not let you face danger without me."


	9. A Friend Departed

My friend died two years ago today, at Reichenbach Falls. He was not an emotive man, and never outwardly expressed signs of friendship, but I could see it regardless. It was in the small things, how he let me stay by his side when I did not understand what he did, or the well hidden delight when I praised his work. He was a genius in his field, the first of his kind. Only I will miss him, as no others truly knew him. Even I did not know him well. Yes, today, two years ago, Professor James Moriarty died.


	10. Wig

Holmes?"

Holmes turned to see Watson looking at him with a faintly amused expression. He was holding up a wig that Holmes had carelessly left in his chair earlier that morning. "What might this be?"

"I would have thought that obvious, Watson," Holmes said dismissively. Internally, he hoped that Watson had not realized where the disguise was from. "It is a wig. One of mine to be precise, so if you could-" He reached a hand out, and Watson gave the wig to him. Holmes hastened into his bedroom to put it away.

"Strange," Watson's voice carried through from the sitting room. "I'm sure that looks familiar." His voice still held a tone of amusement. "I wonder where I could have seen it? Oh, I know! It looks a lot like the hair of a man that helped with my bags yesterday. Now, I wonder how that could be?"

Holmes slowly walked back into the sitting room, to see Watson smirking at him. "Honestly, Holmes. I'm not an idiot. I've lived with you long enough to know when you are in disguise. I just want to know why you did it?"

"I was in the area for some research, and I was already in disguise, so-" Holmes flustered his way through.

Watson laughingly waved him off. "Thank you, Holmes."

"No bother."


	11. Green

"Really Watson, how was I to know it would turn your hair green?"

Sherlock Holmes scowled across the room, where Dr Watson was steadfastly ignoring him. "Indeed," he continued. "I would not have spilt if you hadn't disturbed me."

Watson turned to look incredulously at Holmes. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"Well, it is your fault, Watson. If you hadn't disturbed me, my chemicals would not have spilt on you. You can't blame me for that."

"Holmes, you were holding it above my head!"

"You shouldn't have moved." Holmes replied serenely.

Watson was incensed. "I just woke up!"


	12. Feet

"Mr Holmes?" Lestrade called as he entered the room. "Mr Holmes, I've come to-"

Before he could finish, he was shocked speechless at the unusual sight of Holmes's feet rising from behind Dr Watson's desk. Dr Watson himself was sitting in his arm chair, seemingly unconcerned by whatever Holmes was doing.

"Do come in, Lestrade," Watson greeted warmly, looking up from his book. "Please, take a seat. This is frightful weather to be walking around in."

Lestrade took a seat by the fireplace as the doctor rang for tea. "I just came to tell you how the Rungley case wrapped up. What is Mr Holmes doing, Doctor?"

Watson rolled his eyes. "Apparently, it is a necessary part of his current case. The victim was found in such a position, and Holmes is trying to discover the cause."

Lestrade took another glance at the detective, and once again marveled that he had found a flatmate so ready to put up with him.

* * *

**I would have kept going, but it seemed to want to stop there, and it is my firm policy not to argue with my stories. **


	13. On The Train

**These are Holmes's thoughts on the train out of England, as best as I can represent them. **

* * *

I watch Watson as he sleeps, head resting against the window. He has loyally followed me this far, but is it really fair for me to ask him to continue? I know that he will come with me as soon as I ask, and probably will come even if I don't ask. He is my faithful friend.

Is it fair to ask him to come this time? Moriarty is a criminal unlike any before. This could be very dangerous, and though I am willing to risk my life to rid the world of him, I am not prepared to risk Watson's.

He has a wife waiting for him back in England. Though I dislike her for taking Watson away from Baker Street, she is truly fond of him, and I must respect her. I will not allow Mary Watson to be widowed.

Having resolved that, I should tell Watson to go home, and leave me, but I cannot. I am selfish, I know, but I cannot let my only source of comfort leave. Without Watson, I should sink into a pit of the blackest despair. I must not allow that, not with Moriarty so close on our trail.

I know that Watson would not leave my side even if I did ask. What man could be more faithful than my biographer?


	14. Scene On Ship

There is a man standing by the railing. He is much thinner than his build seems to indicate, and he stands ramrod straight against the wind. That he used to be a soldier is obvious from his stance, even if we weren't on an Army ship.

I walk over to the rail. The storm is building, and all passengers must get below. I notice the way the man holds his left shoulder stiffly, and carefully walk to his other side, before touching his right shoulder. He swiftly turns and looks at me. At once I am struck by the haunted look in his hazel eyes, a look that speaks all too clearly of a place far away, and the horrors of war there. This man seems to be my own age, only twenty six. What horrors must he have seen to have such spectres lurking in his eyes?

Seeing me, the haunted look recedes, replaced by a careful blankness. The shadows are still there, but they hide behind a careful mask of nothingness. I sense that this is a man with a fierce pride, who will not accept any special treatment.

I shout over the wind. The storm is picking up, and even at close quarters it is hard to hear a word.

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to get below!"


	15. Shot

**I personally imagine this with a group of at least six burly men armed with clubs, but you are free to imagine this as you wish. **

* * *

"Step well away, sirs, if you wish to keep your lives. I am quite capable of dispatching them if you come any closer."

The men exchanged glances and snorted in laughter, thinking there was nothing to fear from the thin, ill looking man with a limp.

"We got yer friend beat, wot's to say we won't get you beat too? Ya reckon we can, mates?" One of the gang blustered, hefting a club in his hands.

His gang sneered. Their sneers turned to girlish squeals when each of their clubs were systematically blown to splinters by well placed gun shots.


	16. Letter

**I have a challenge to issue, to all the wonderful people who read these stories. I want you to write something, anything, with the line "Do you two ever stop fighting?" Please, if you accept, send me a PM, and I will do my best to be your first reviewer!**

* * *

Dear Sally,

Oh my dear sister, what a horrible time it has been for me! Just a few days ago, I attracted the attention of a Mr Thomas Escott, a plumber. I accepted his attentions, and hoped it would spur Arthur Newell on, so that he would finally propose. Eventually, Mr Escott asked me to marry him, and I didn't see any reason to say no. I may not have truly loved him, but he had a rising business, and it didn't seem like Arthur would ever ask! A girl can't wait forever, you know, even for love.

Just a few days later, there was a disturbance one night. The whole household was woken to the sound of gunshots. Mr Lewis went into the master's room, and found him dead on the floor! I right near fainted, I did, when I heard that. They almost caught the men who did it, but they got away.

The next morning, after Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard left, I got a note from Mr Escott, breaking our engagement. I just sat down and cried, it was just too much. Alfred came out, and saw me crying. He sat down, and well, the important news is, he proposed! Two proposals in one week, and never one in my life before now. We are getting married in three weeks time. Wish me luck, sister!

Your darling sister,

Betty


	17. Wrong

**Inspired by Arisprite's sentence 24: Bitter. **

* * *

Watson lay on the floor, barely conscious. His injuries were horrific, and I feared if his wounds did not receive attention soon, his life may be forfeit. I had suffered nothing but bruises and cuts, which made my self disgust all the worse. If I had not made such an amateur's mistake, in theorizing before all the data had been accumulated, this would not have happened.

I had, fortunately, alerted the Yard to our destination, but they may not arrive in time to save Watson's life.

I kneel by Watson's unconscious form, knowing I must admit this."I was wrong."


	18. Nightmares

**Who do you think these two are?**

* * *

I sit beside my companion as he sleeps. At first, the sleep is peaceful. Soon, his eyes begin to flicker behind his eyelids, and he mutters softly. His murmurs become louder, turning into names. Some I know, some I don't. He starts to thrash, calling loudly for the men in his dreams.

I shake him, and call his name. "Wake up, old man. Wake up now."

He startles awake, sitting bolt upright. He looks wildly around the room, then sees me and calms. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"You're welcome."

We sit in awkward silence for a few more moments.


	19. Sleepless Nights

**The last few of these have been rather sad, so I thought I would put some humour in. This is not a drabble, the characters are possibly OOC, but I decided to post it anyway. If you want the backstory, please tell me, and I would be happy to provide. **

* * *

"What is it this time, Inspector?" Holmes muttered wearily.

I valiantly tried to hide my smile. "Terribly sorry, Mr Holmes, but I believe you left your coat when you were at the Yard yesterday. I thought I should return it to you."

Holmes groaned. "One or another of you Inspectors has been here every hour for the entire night, and I have not had any sleep! For the final time, this is not mine! I did not leave my hat, coat, umbrella, shoes, muffler, or" - shudder-"puppy, at the Yard, so do not keep asking!"

A muffled giggle was heard from upstairs, and Holmes's gaze sharpened. "Watson!"


	20. An Unexpected Visitor

**This fic is dedicated to Rockztar. It's not quite a 221B, but I wanted to post it anyway. **

* * *

One evening, while my wife and I were enjoying a quiet night at home, a young lady came in. Mary stood and greeted her warmly. "Zaria, how nice to see you! John, this is Azaria Bankers. Zaria, my husband John Watson."

At the mention of my name, the young woman started. "Doctor Watson, the writer for the Strand?"

"Yes, that is I."

Miss Bankers smiled widely. "What good fortune! My sister is such a fan, she has read all your stories. I had come to see Mary, but to meet you as well is a marvelous surprise. My sister would be jealous."

"How is your sister?" Mary inquired.

Miss Bankers looked very sad. "Very unfortunate, I'm afraid."

Mary looked worried. "Is she ill?"

"Worse," Miss Bankers said with a sad countenance. "She's married."

"Why, that's wonderful news! When was she married?" Mary asked.

"She was married just last Thursday, and is yet on honeymoon, or I should have asked her assistance." At this admittance, the young lady looked highly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I had not meant to say anything."

"Nonsense, Azaria, I will do whatever within my power to help you. Now, what is your trouble?"

"I am afraid I very much need a place to stay," Azaria said. "May I stay here for a time?"

Mary looked at me. "John?"

What was I to say against two women looking at me so beseechingly?


	21. Yes

**I know this is very short, but I was requested to write more on Azaria Banker. I assure you, as soon as I find more inspiration, she shall be back, and hopefully in a longer piece. **

* * *

We would be very glad to have you here," I said. "Any friend of Mary's is a friend of mine."

"Thank you very much!" Miss Bankers smiled. "I am afraid I do not know where I would be without you."

"Come, you will stay in the guest room. This way, Zaria," Mary said. The two women disappeared down the hall, and I was left to reflect on our young guest.


	22. A Normal Night

**More Azaria Bankers!**

* * *

Mary and Azaria are in the sitting room, sewing and chatting quietly. Watson is out with Holmes for the night, and the women are enjoying a night to themselves.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Watson enters, half carrying, half dragging Holmes.

"Mary," he calls. "Get my bag from upstairs."

Mary hurries upstairs and quickly comes back down, black doctors bag in hand. She hands it to Watson, then goes into the kitchen for warm water.

In a matter of minutes, Holmes's gash is cleaned and bandaged and he is resting on the lounge.

Azaria, slightly stunned, asks, "What happened?


	23. Fight

**Thanks to all my reviewers, for all 101 of your reviews! Extra thanks to mrspencil, for being my 100th reviewer. It means so much to me that you all have reviewed. **

**This one was inspired by KCS'S ****_Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes_****, sentence 32: Eye. **

* * *

"Hey, hey! What's going on here!" Hopkins shouted as he entered the alley. He rushed up to the two men fighting on the ground, and pulled Holmes off the villain.

"What's this about?" Hopkins asked him.

Holmes drew himself upright and brushed off his clothing. "This," he said. "Is Rowan McCowling. He is the man who robbed and murdered Jim Lowell. Deal with him." He stalked off to another part of the alley.

Hopkins watched him, and saw him stop by a figure sitting up against the wall.

'Dr Watson,' he thought, no longer surprised that Holmes had fought McCowling.


	24. Special Occasion

**Mrspencil, as my 100th reviewer, requested: **

**How about a scene with Wayne and Mrs Hudson working together, perhaps creating something as a surprise for Holmes and/or Watson.**

**Hope this answered your request! This is also my longest chapter so far, at 534 words!**

* * *

"Yer sure about this, missus?" Wayne asks doubtfully. "Oi don't think Mr 'Olmes would loike it."

"Well, he may not like it, but the Doctor would, and so would I," Mrs Hudson says, looking at the boy standing in her front hall. "This is a special day, it deserves a special celebration."

"Alright," Wayne reluctantly agrees. "What do I hafta do?"

The preparations are quickly made, and soon the house is filled with the scent of biscuits baking.

"They're coming, missus 'Udson!" Wayne says, hopping up and down in anticipation.

Mrs Hudson comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "The biscuits are baked, and lunch is ready. Now we just have to wait."

Just then the door opened, and Holmes and Watson come in.

"Another case concluded!" Holmes says happily. He heads up the stairs, calling after him, "Bring the lunch up, Mrs Hudson!"

Watson smiles apologetically at Mrs Hudson, then hurries up the stairs after Holmes.

After they have both disappeared into their sitting room, Mrs Hudson smiles widely at Wayne. "I will bring the lunch up now, and it will be the best lunch they've ever had! Come on boy, help me with the tray." When Wayne hesitates, she continues, "I have a few cookies left over, that you may have for helping me. But only if you're good, mind. No stealing pieces off the tray."

"Oi wouldn't do that, missus!" Wayne says indignantly.

Mrs Hudson looks at him sternly. "See that you don't."

Between the two of them, the food is brought upstairs, and laid on the table.

"Lunch is served," Mrs Hudson says and she takes a seat. The two men look at her, astonished.

"My dear Mrs Hudson," Holmes says. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's quite simple, sirs," she replies, smiling. "Do you not know what today is?"

Holmes and Watson look at each other, confusion on their faces.

"And you a detective too," Mrs Hudson tuts, looking reprovingly at Holmes. "We are celebrating," she says clearly. "Because today, five years ago, two young men turned up on my doorstep, asking to hire my rooms. Seeing them now," she continues, looking around the room. "I'm not sure I should have agreed."

The two squirm under her gaze, then hastily take their seats at the table. "Let's eat!"

"Hey! What about me?" A small voice pipes up. "Oi helped! What about them biscuits, missus?"

"Of course! I am sorry gentlemen, I'll be right back." Mrs Hudson and Wayne go downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Thank you very much for your help today, young man," Mrs Hudson says, looking Wayne in the eye.

The boy shifts slightly under the attention. "That's alright. Yer nice, missus 'Udson. Yer like-" He falters.

"Like who?" Mrs Hudson asks.

He looks at the floor. "Yer a bit like me mum." Before Mrs Hudson can say anything, Wayne grabs the biscuits from her outstretched hands, and races out the door.

She makes her way back up the stairs to the meal waiting there, thankful for her two lodgers, and wondering what had happened to the boy who had been sitting in her kitchen, that he ended up on the street.


	25. What Could Have Been

_"John, come quickly!" Mary cried from the nursery. Watson and Holmes, who had been talking by the fire in the sitting room, rushed up the stairs, fearing attack._

_They stopped in the doorway, caught by the sight before them. The Watsons' son was stumbling across the room, his blond curls askew._

_"He's walking, John," Mary said softly. "Sherlock is walking."_

_"Daddy!" An excited young voice came from the kitchen, "Daddy, you're home!" A brown haired blur propelled itself into John waiting arms. Young Anna, named after Mary's old employer, was a three year old blur of energy. She looked at her daddy with the blue eyes of her mother, and eagerly told him, "Mommy and me made biscuits!"_

_***  
"How was school?" John asked his son as they sat around the dinner table. Sherlock grinned at him. "I liked it. They let me do experiments like I do with Uncle Sherlock."_

_John and Mary exchanged half amused, half fearful glances. Their son was growing up to be very much like his uncle Sherlock, and they were not yet sure what to think of that._

_"Why can't I go to school, Daddy?" Anna asked John. "Sherlock goes to school."_

_"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but girls aren't allowed in school." John hated to say it, but even Mycroft's considerable influence on behalf of his pseudo niece had not wavered school policy._

_Anna's pleading gaze turned to her mother. "Mummy, can't I go to school?" Mary shook her head, then brightened as an idea occurred. "What if I teach you instead, darling?"_

_The smile that lit up Anna's face was answer enough._

_***  
The years flew by, and Holmes retired, leaving a new detective to take his place. Sherlock Hamish Watson replaced him, to the delight of his godfather, and was in time accompanied by Dr Anna Watson as he solved crimes on the streets of London, with the occasional help from his uncles._

_***  
John had tears in his eyes as he walked his daughter down the aisle. The expression of the man waiting by the altar reminded him of his feelings when he married Mary, many years ago. She took her place by the altar, and he went to sit with his wife and both Holmes's, who had come into the city just for the wedding._

_"Anna Martha Hudson, do you take Robert Gregory Lestrade to be your lawful wedded husband?"_

_Looking straight into the eyes of her childhood friend, the son of her father's good friend, and the man she loved with all her heart, she said, "I do."_

_***  
After many years, John and Mary retired to Sussex, to live in a small cottage, gifted by Holmes, that held a remarkable proximity to a certain beekeeper's cottage. They had many visitors, including their two children, and eventually grandchildren, and had many evenings spent by the fire with an old friend, remembering the remarkable lives they had led._

At Baker Street, the night after Holmes's return, John Watson slept on, a soft smile on his face, dreaming of a world death had not touched.


	26. 221B Challenge

**This was inspired by Maple Leaf Cameo, and is a different type of 221B. Can you see why?**

* * *

"Doctor, is that blood?"

"Your deductive abilities are boundless. Yes, Holmes, this is blood."

"Were you not simply going out to see to Mrs Bryant?"

"Yes, but things went bad. Her daughter was playing in the backyard, a girl called Bella. Bella was playing with her brother. They climbed a tree, but Bella fell, and her arm broke."

"But what about the blood?"

"I'm getting there Holmes, give me a break! Bella's brother also fell, a boy named Brad. He was severely scratched, and that is the cause for the blood. I cleaned his scratches, and he sat bravely. I told him next time, not to disobey his mother so brazenly. Then I dealt with his sister's break. When I left, both children were in bed. They will have quite a story to tell their buddies."

"Yes, children do so like to brag. Watson, have you had breakfast?"

"No, Holmes, I have been too busy. Would you ring the bell?"

"I do not need to use the bell. Mrs Hudson, bring up breakfast!"

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson, for breakfast. I do love eggs and bacon. Holmes, would you sit down and stop looking so black?"

"I will sit, Watson, but I do not want breakfast."

"Alright, Holmes, I am too tired for berating."

"Watson, I do suggest you go to bed."


	27. King

**More to come tomorrow! I have them written, it's just too late to post more than one right now. **

* * *

"I am insulted!" The King said, striding to the doorway. "You will regret this, Mr Holmes. I am a very influential man, and one day you will regret ever refusing me!" With that final remark, the man stormed out the door.

Watson turned to Holmes. "Why did you not simply take his case? There was no need to refuse on my account, I could have simply left the room."

"And what, proceed without my Boswell? No, my dear Watson, it is either both or none."

Holmes took up his violin and moved to the window, heedless of Watson's pleased smile.


	28. Black Mood

"Was this really what you had in mind, Holmes, when you said you needed more dirt for your disguise?" Watson asked in amusement.

Holmes scowled at him. "You know very well that it was not. I said I needed more dirt, not to be covered head to foot in coal dust!"

Watson snickered. "It was quite a sight. The mighty Sherlock Holmes, tumbling through the air, crashing through the roof of a shed."

Holmes deigned not to answer, choosing instead to glare fiercely at Watson.

Watson, entirely unaffected, continued. "Really Holmes, must you look so morose? You are almost as black now as you were covered in coal dust earlier!"


	29. Story Telling

"Then, the man moved toward me..."

A small group of boys watched me with awestruck faces. They had been listening eagerly to my story, and were now waiting breathlessly for me to continue, the silence unbroken but for soft breathing. Suddenly, a boy coughed, and the spell was undone.

"Ye can't stop there, Doc!"

"What happened?"

"Didja die? Did Mr 'Olmes die?"

"'Course he didn't die, idjit. He's here, ain't he?"

I cleared my throat and the boys quieted. "Thank you, Wayne, for pointing that out. Now, do you want more of the story?"

A chorus of yes's were heard.


	30. God

**I personally believe in God, so don't think the opinions in this piece are mine. I believe that God exists, and does answer prayers, but I won't force my opinions on anybody.**

**There may not be a piece tomorrow, as I have exams. **

**Enjoy the story!**

* * *

I've never believed in God, but He is all that can help now. I can hear the bombs coming down, hear the reports on the radio at night. I only wish Watson was here to listen to them with me. But he is fighting in a war far away.

My brother is far too busy at the moment to do anything to help. Even if he was not, I fear that this is beyond his reach. So can help one soldier among thousands?

If there is a God out there, I pray He keeps Watson safe. Only He possibly could.


	31. Not Hungry

"No."

"Please, sir, you must eat something!"

"I do not wish to eat anything. Now, Mrs Hudson, leave me."

"How about some soup? I could bring you up some soup."

"I do not want anything, Mrs Hudson, and I do not appreciate you prying into my affairs."

"I know you miss the doctor, sir, but you need to eat something."

"I do not wish to eat anything, and please do not presume to know what I am feeling."

"Please, Mr Holmes, just eat something."

"I will not eat, Mrs Hudson."

"After this, Dr Watson will never go on holidays again."

I'm sure I'm not mistaken when I hear a soft "I can only hope" from the seat by the window. Poor Mr Holmes. I can't grudge the doctor his holidays, not when he has Mr Holmes to deal with all the time, but I wish he would come home soon.


	32. Encouragement Part 1

**This is dedicated to all the wonderful people who wished me luck for me exams. Thank you!**

* * *

_Encouragement: the act of giving hope or support to someone_

* * *

"I - think we can - make it," Holmes said. "Hold still, Watson!"

"It is not easy to stay still with you standing on my shoulders! How can you only eat enough to feed a bird, yet still weigh so heavy?"

How did we get in this position, you ask? We had been chasing Cole Roberts around the warehouse district of London, and he had trapped us in a cellar. Now, we were endevouring to escape before the Thames flooded the cellar completely. I was already up to my waist, and it was rising quickly.

"Holmes, can you go a bit faster? The water is coming in rapidly." I groaned with the effort of trying to keep Holmes steady on my shoulders.

Holmes glanced down at me in frustration. "I am trying, Watson! The water is making my lock pick rather slippery."

Suddenly, to our combined horror, the pick slipped from Holmes's hands, and fell with a splash into the water, now at my shoulders.

"We must try something else. Holmes, if I bent down, could you push the trapdoor?"

"Is there nothing else, Watson?"

"Nothing that will work in time. The water is at my chin already."

Holmes nodded, looking nervous. I grabbed his arm. "You can do this, Holmes. I believe."


	33. Encouragement Part 2

**The second part of my thank you story for all the lovely reviewers you wished me luck on my exams. Thanks!**

* * *

Encouragement - the act of giving hope or support to someone

* * *

I furiously hammered the trapdoor over my head. Watson could only hold his breath so long, and when he could hold no longer, I should fall with him.

I could feel the water lapping at my feet. The water was now over Watson's head. I increased my efforts on the trapdoor, and finally it broke loose. I grabbed hold of the ledge, pulling myself up. Suddenly, I was hanging by my arms from the opening, as my feet dropped out from under me.

"Watson?" I called, despite knowing that Watson could not possibly answer me. I hauled myself out of the cellar, now mostly flooded with water.

I turned my attention to the room I now found myself in, and frantically searched the shelves for some sort of light. I discovered a lamp, hastily lit it, and returned to the open trapdoor. Watson was nowhere in sight.

I sat the lamp on the floor and dive back into the waters. The light only faintly penetrated the gloom of the cellar, and the murky water admitted no light. Blindly, I searched, and was rewarded by a figure sinking down. Quickly, I grabbed Watson and pulled him out of the water.

I pulled us out of the water, and onto the warehouse floor.

Watson coughed and spluttered, "Thank you Holmes."

"Just keep breathing."


	34. Play

**This is a semi Drabble, only 50 words. **

* * *

"I wanna be Mr Holmes!"

"No, I'm gonna be Mr Holmes!"

"Nu-uh! I am!"

"Must be nice to be so popular," Watson remarked to Holmes with a mischievous smile.

Holmes snorted. "I do not regard the play acting of children as popularity."

They continued their way through the park.


	35. Run

"Run, Watson!" The cry comes from behind him, spurning him onwards. "Run!" Holmes sounds frantic, desperate, and quickly drawing closer. His limping run is no match for Holmes's frenzied pace.

He hears shouts behind him, and runs faster. The shouts grow louder, and seem excited. In sudden dread, he turns around, and sees that Holmes is no longer behind him.

He turns back, fear for his friend fueling his gait. As he draws near he pulls his revolver.

"Stand back, all of you!"

The men see his gun and run. He kneels next to Holmes.

"Never again," he whispers softly.


	36. Infuriating

"Is this what you were looking for?" Watson asks amusedly, holding out a bundle of papers.

Holmes scowls. "Yes." He snatches the papers, then collapses into his chair and glares at the fireplace.

After a few moments silence, Holmes has calmed enough to ask a question he has been pondering for some time. "Watson?"

"Yes, Holmes?"

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Watson looks genuinely puzzled.

Holmes gestures with his pipe. "How do you know just walk into a room and know where things are?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Watson replies, looking slightly embarrassed. "I suppose I can just remember where things are."

"That will not suffice. You can find anything I am looking for, even when I have- let us say- rearranged, the room. That cannot simply be a matter of memory."

"I truly do not know, Holmes," Watson says. "I believe it may just be a matter of knowing you well enough to know how you have 'rearranged' the room, and remembering things were originally. It is simply instinct and practice."

Holmes dismisses the subject with a wave of his hand. Though he is not yet satisfied with Watson's answers, he can see that the subject is making Watson uncomfortable.

"Well, it is remarkably useful at times, my dear Watson, though I must confess, it is also your single most annoying characteristic."

Holmes is very amused by Watson's look of surprise at that announcement.

"But Holmes, why?"

"Tell my Watson, have you ever had someone come into the room and find exactly what you were looking for within moments, after you had spent the last two hours looking for it? I can tell you, it is most infuriating!"


	37. Hurting

He is hurting.

I can see it in the way he walks into the room, shuffling in, favoring one leg. I can hear it in his voice, sounding far too tired. He looks older than I know he is. It isn't hard to deduce that he has been waking up at night, shouting names, of people and places, many that I don't know, and some that are far too familiar. The dark patches under his eyes make that much obvious.

I walk over and hand him my flask of coffee. He looks at me, and smiles gratefully. "Thank you, Lestrade."

* * *

**In case I haven't made it clear, this is Lestrade's point of view on Dr Watson, soon after Reichenbach. **


	38. Her Boys

"Really, I'm fine, boys," Mrs Hudson said to her to worried lodgers. "I'm alright now."

"Mrs Hudson, a sprained wrist and bruising is not alright," Watson told her as he put a cast on her wrist. "This is serious." He stood back and looked at her warningly. "Now, you won't be doing any more housework for the next few days, but you should recover soon. Until then, please don't use that wrist."

He glanced at Holmes, who was searching the rooms for any trace of the intruders, furious at the injury to his housekeeper. "Holmes?"

"Three young men, most likely on a dare, inexperienced. Came from Campen Street, the dirt is distinctive. Left no more than an hour ago, they will not have had time to dispose of the evidence yet." Holmes spouted all this as he turned to the door, calling after him, "Coming, Watson?"

"I'll be right down," Watson called down the stairs. He turned back to Mrs Hudson. "I expect you to be careful, or Holmes might be making breakfast," Watson tried to joke, but Mrs Hudson could see that he was worried and disturbed by the break in, and her resulting injuries.

"I'll be fine, Doctor," she reassured him.

He nodded quickly, and followed after Holmes. She smiled. It was times like these, she loved her boys.


	39. Sorry

"The axle is broken," Watson said in a clipped tone. "We'll have to walk."

They started on the six mile trudge back to town, the silence hanging heavy between them. After a vicious argument at the start of their journey, neither had spared an unnecessary word towards the other.

During their long walk, Watson turned to Holmes. "I'm sorry, Holmes. I shouldn't have said that. I hope you can forgive me."

"My dear Watson, of course," Holmes replied warmly. Watson knew he would never apologize, but as the tension was replaced by companionable quiet, he found he really didn't mind.


	40. Wake

"Holmes!"

Holmes looked up from the newspaper he had hastily snatched moments ago. "Watson?"

Watson glared at him. "Holmes, that is not a proper way to wake someone!"

Looking at him with amusement well hidden behind a mask of confusion, Holmes asked, "Watson, what are you talking about?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about," Watson crossly replied. "Your innocent act doesn't work on me."

"Really, Watson, I believe your tiredness has caused you to imagine things," Holmes said. "Go upstairs to bed."

As Holmes heard Watson leave the room and head upstairs, he grinned secretly. Really, it was Mrs Hudson's fault for leaving the feather duster in the lounge room. He couldn't help it if Watson was ticklish.


	41. Help

**Holmes is called Sherlock in this, because this is from Mycroft's point of view. For those who were wondering. **

* * *

"Sherlock, please take a seat," Mycroft said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Sherlock disregarded the offer with a wave of his hand. "I'm not staying long, Mycroft. I have far too much to do today."

Mycroft nodded in acknowledgment, then got down to business. "Why have you come to see me, Sherlock? Is this about Moriarty?"

"You know of him?" Sherlock's look of surprise quickly faded. "Of course you know of him." He hesitated. "Mycroft, I need your help."

"With what, my dear brother?" Mycroft was quite honestly startled by this. His brother had not asked for his help since Sherlock was 10. This must be a very serious matter.

"Moriarty is trying to kill me," Sherlock stated.

"You would not come here for protection, so it must be something else. Something to do with the doctor?" Mycroft theorized.

Sherlock looked abashed, but continued. "In the morning, I wish that you would drive Watson to the station. I fear that Moriarty may try to abduct him, before he can reach the station." He leant forward. "Please, Mycroft, you're the only one I can trust."

"Of course, Sherlock," Mycroft promised, shocked by the plea. As Sherlock left, he wondered about the deceptively ordinary man that had changed Sherlock so much, he would ask for help from his brother.


	42. Broken

"Quick Watson! Hide the glass!" Mrs Hudson heard Holmes mutter as she came up the stairs. She shook her head in despair. Those boys could never just learn to look after things. Oh no, she didn't blame the doctor for it. She knew he wasn't the one responsible.

It was Mr Holmes she blamed. Every piece of china she took upstairs came back down destroyed. She was now considering buying paper plates for their use, as it seemed anything else would be broken! Messing with chemicals, throwing cups at the walls, plates under the sofa cushions. It was simply unbelievable! Any other housekeeper would have given up and sent them away.

Yet Mrs Hudson knew she would never do that. Whatever their faults, these were her boys, and she would never throw them out of her home. It had become their home now as well. Instead she shook her head, opened the door, and asked, "Now what have you broken?"


	43. Lonely

"John?" Mary paused in her knitting to look at her husband.

"Yes, Mary?" he enquired.

"What will Sherlock be doing for Christmas?" she asked him. It had been bothering her for some time, not knowing what John's closest friend was doing for the holiday. Mary strongly believed no one should be alone on Christmas, having spent it alone in the past, and not wishing the experience on anyone else.

"Mrs Hudson usually goes to her sister's for Christmas, so Holmes and I would celebrate together. Not that it was much of a celebration. I believe the only reason Holmes celebrated was that I coerced him into it. Otherwise he would have ignored it entirely." John stared into the fire with a wistful smile, remembering past celebrations with Holmes. After a moment, he shook himself out of his reminiscing, and turned back to Mary. "Why did you ask?"

"I was just wondering, do you think he would like to come here for Christmas?" Mary asked, half-shyly. "I would like to have him here, and I don't think anyone should be alone at Christmas."

John leant over and kissed her softly. "Where did I find such a wonderful woman as you?"


	44. Injuries

**November is over, so I probably won't be posting as often. I do, however, aim to have 50 chapters to this before the year ends. **

* * *

He had been injured on cases many times. It was a part of his work. Some of his cases were easily solved from his armchair. Others involved leaving the flat and investigating around London. Most, however, included situations that were either dangerous, or would possibly become so. These cases became more frequent as the years passed.

Before he met Watson, if he was injured on a case, he would take care of injuries himself, and ignore them if possible. With his mental prowess, injuries were easily disregarded. He only ever went to the hospital if it was absolutely necessary, which he seldom deemed it to be. On a few memorable occasions, he had been injured while on official police cases. In those circumstances, the police surgeon on duty would take care of injuries.

It all changed when he met Watson. He had someone to watch his back, and look after any injuries that made it past Watson's formidable guard. He still tried to ignore injuries whenever possible, but Watson had an uncannily good eye for spotting any wounds or illnesses. With such a stalwart friend and companion, it was hard for him to imagine what life had been like before Watson. What had it been like before knowing when he woke from his sickbed, Watson would be sitting at his bedside?


	45. A Lonely Man

My brother has always been a lonely man, first by nature, then by choice. As a child, he was unpopular for his observations. Other children thought him strange, not understanding his deductive reasoning. He was very lonely, even more so when I left home at seventeen. He felt I had abandoned him, and never quite forgave me.

As an adult, he was still unpopular for his observations. As much as I argued with him, he would never see the wisdom of keeping some things to himself. Even the many injuries he gained were no deterrent.

I felt nothing but pity when I heard Sherlock had found a flatmate. Any man that tried to live with Sherlock would undoubtedly be driven out before the week had passed. It was, therefore, very much to my surprise that Sherlock's flatmate, a Dr Watson, had actually lasted an entire week. My surprise increased with every subsequent day. I even dared to hope that my brother had found himself a friend.

Impossible as it may have seemed, it appeared to be true. The man still lived with Sherlock an entire year later. Even after his wedding, Dr Watson continued to stay in touch with my brother. It seemed my brother had found the one man in London who would put up with him and his brilliance.


	46. Mistletoe

**Sorry if this is like another one I have written, but I just seems to love writing about these two at Christmastime! **

* * *

"Mary?" John called as he walked in the door."Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, darling," Mary called from another room. John walked further into the house, looking around the room. "Have you been decorating for Christmas?"

Mary came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"I love it," John said, smiling at his wife. Mary looked up at him, then giggled.

"I think you missed a decoration," she said. He looked up, and saw the mistletoe hanging over their heads.

"Merry Christmas, Mary," he whispered, before leaning down to kiss her.


	47. Sick

"Holmes, are you well?" Watson asked concernedly.

"Quite well, my dear Watson," Holmes replied, keeping his gaze away from Watson.

Watson strode over to Holmes, and faced him. Holmes reluctantly lifted his eyes to look at Watson, and at once Watson was struck by how pale his friend looked.

"Holmes, you are sick! Why did you not tell me?" he cried.

"You have been busy of late, Watson. I didn't want to trouble you."

"It is no trouble at all, Holmes," Watson said softly, pressing his hand to Holmes's forehead. "You know it is my greatest delight to assist you."


	48. Dismembered

**The first line of this is from K9, Season 1, Episode 2: Liberation. It was too tempting to pass up on! **

* * *

"I cannot just sit here, waiting to be dismembered!" Watson shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

Holmes sat back in his chair and watched, smoking his pipe. "My dear Watson, sitting here is your only reasonable option. If you leave the house, you will immediately be caught. I'm afraid you cannot help but sit here."

"But what of my patients, Holmes?" Watson asked, pacing the room. "I must care for them, many of them cannot afford another doctor."

"I fear that there is nothing you can do about it, Watson. You cannot leave this room."

Watson whirled in Holmes's direction. "What if one of my patients dies, because I did not go and care for them, and instead remained here? I can not let that happen."

"And if you go to care for them, and are killed?" Holmes asked, springing up from his chair. "No, Watson, I cannot let that happen. You must stay here."

Watson, surprised by the uncharacteristic display of affection, sat down on his chair. "Very well Holmes, I will stay."

Holmes took up his violin and started to play. Watson heard the unspoken thank you hidden in the music.

"You're welcome, Holmes," he murmured.


	49. Happy Birthday

**Happy Birthday to jack63kids! This one is for you. **

* * *

"Azaria?" Mary called out into the house. "Where have you gone? I thought we were going on a walk?" She stopped a moment, listening. "Don't you remember?"

She walked silently through the darkened building, looking for signs that Azaria was still inside. She came to a halt. 'What if someone has broken in?' Trying to hold back such dark thoughts, she continued on her way, but with more caution than before.

Spying a poker, she lifted it, feeling safer now she had a weapon. "Zaria?" She called softly. "Where are you?"

There was no answer to her call. The house was silent, with no lights showing. Mary started to tremble. Azaria was missing, and John had not yet come home. Was this to do with Sherlock's work? Was she next?

Quickly Mary stopped those thoughts. "I will not be scared," she told herself. "John does sometimes work late, and Azaria may have gone out. There is nothing to be frightened of." Suddenly, a noise came from up the hall.

Having resolved to face whatever comes bravely, Mary walked up the hall and stopped outside the door. She put her ear to the keyhole, and listened closely. There was the sound of muffled whispers, and someone silencing them. Deciding the element of surprise was best, she threw the door open.

"Happy Birthday!"


	50. Twaddle

**Yay! 50 chapters! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favorited this story so far. **

**This chapter is kind of weird, but I thought it was funny. Please, don't take it too seriously. **

* * *

_Detective Smurf and Doctor Smurf were out for a walk one day in the forest, when they saw a smurf berry disappear under a bush._

_"Look, Detective Smurf!" cried Doctor Smurf. "A smurf berry has disappeared under that bush!"_

_"I see it, Doctor Smurf," said Detective Smurf. "We should follow it and see were it goes. Follow me, Doctor Smurf!"_

"What twaddle is this!" exclaimed Holmes, throwing down the paper I had given him. "Who are these little blue men, these 'smurfs'?"

"I believe they're part of a children's story, Holmes," I said.

Holmes snorted. "It will never catch on."


	51. Holidays

"What are you doing, Watson?" Holmes asked, lounging in his chair.

Watson paused in the act of taking his coat off the hook. "I'm going on holidays, Holmes. I'll be gone for a week." He started to smile. "Have you really forgotten?"

Holmes drew himself upright, the very picture of offended dignity. "I've hardly forgotten, seeing as you neglected to tell me."

"I've told you twice already, Holmes," Watson chuckled. "Goodbye, now."

Watson walked out the door, calling goodbye to Mrs Hudson as he went. Holmes watched as Watson called a cab, thinking to himself, 'One week, Watson, no more.'

* * *

**Author's note at the end this time! **

**Thanks so much to Roni, for her wonderful review! That truly made my day. I'm so glad you are enjoying my little stories. **

**I, like Watson, will be away for a week, before Christmas, so probably won't be updating again until after Christmas. Hopefully my holiday will inspire me with good ideas, and lots of new stories! **


	52. Return From Holidays

**I'm back! I had a great holiday, and now have some more stories to share. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas! **

* * *

"I'm back," Watson said cheerily as he opened the door of the sitting room. Holmes appeared not to notice.

Watson quickly opened the window, waving away the clouds of smoke that had permeated the room. Holmes had been smoking for hours, and was still sitting in his armchair with his pipe. Watson sat in the opposite armchair, knowing it was useless to talk to his friend just then.

Suddenly Holmes leapt up and paced the room. "Why did he not escape at once?" he asked himself. "What did he have to gain by remaining in the room? The girl was dead, he did not bother with evidence, what was his purpose?"

"Perhaps a memento?" Watson ventured.

Holmes stopped in his tracks. "A memento..." he breathed. "I do believe you've got it, Watson! Quickly, we must go back to the scene. Come along!" He spun around and headed to the door, throwing Watson's coat in his general direction. Watson smiled, knowing that in his own way, Holmes was saying 'Welcome Home'.


	53. Alone At Christmas

Watson stared moodily into the fire, remembering Mary's words from a Christmas many years ago. Nobody should be alone on Christmas, she had said, with her soft, sweet smile. Not even Mr Holmes. That year, and every year following, Mary had insisted that Holmes come to join them for dinner on Christmas Day. Christmasses with Holmes and Mary were always amusing, and a time Watson had looked forward to every year.

When Holmes had died at Reichenbach, Christmas was very different. He and Mary celebrated the day together, but attended the Scotland Yard Christmas Party on Christmas Eve.

Then Mary had died, and Watson's world had been destroyed again. Now, he was spending his Christmas alone, the one thing Mary had hated for anyone to do.

Watson's musings were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Come in!" He called.

Lestrade looked hesitantly around the door frame. "Good evening, Doctor, and a Merry Christmas."

"Is it?" Watson said in a low biting tone. He continued more loudly. "Merry Christmas to you too, Lestrade. Please, take a seat."

"No thank you, Doctor." Lestrade gripped his hat, nervously twisting it between his hands. "I just came to extend an invitation to spend Christmas with my family."

"I really couldn't impose, Lestrade," Watson said, touched by the offer.

"It's no imposition at all, Doctor," Lestrade replied firmly. "I insist."

Watson looked directly at him. "Thank you."

As Lestrade called a cab, Watson thought, 'Merry Christmas, Mary. Now neither of us are alone.'


	54. He Will Come

"Face it, Doctor," a voice in the shadows taunted. "No one is coming for you."

"Holmes will," Watson breathed shallowly. "He always does."

"Even Holmes won't find you are doomed to die here, alone!" The voice screamed triumphantly. "Holmes will only ever find your body!"

Watson raised his head slightly then sunk back, too weak to look for the source of the voice. "Holmes will come," he repeated stubbornly. "He always comes."

"Fool!" The voice shouted again. "Listen to me! He will not come! You will die here!"

"He will not." A voice came from behind the man, and a thump was heard.

Watson blinked upwards as a familiar face came into view. "Hallo Holmes," he said with a hazy smile. "I knew you would come in time." Finally, Watson lost his battle with unconsciousness, and slumped into Holmes's arms. Holding his friend, Holmes whispered, "I almost didn't."


	55. Cheese Knife

"That is not what you use a cheese knife for," Mrs Hudson said faintly, transfixed by the sight in front of her.

"Did you say something, Mrs Hudson?" Dr Watson asked, coming up the stairs, Holmes behind him. She pointed wordlessly to the note hanging from their door, held there by a knife. Watson stepped closer. "Is that really - a cheese knife?" He asked, peering at it.

"Obviously, Watson," Holmes said. "It is also quite clearly from a cheese maker's apprentice, originally from York, and now residing in Mount Lane. As for the note, it is simply a pitiful attempt at intimidation. It is of little importance. Come, Watson, this may be just the clue we were looking for!"

Holmes ran back down the stairs, on the chase again. Watson followed him, limping slightly due to the wet weather.

Mrs Hudson pulled the knife out of the door and surveyed it critically, before going to the kitchen and placing it in her knife rack. "It is a good knife, after all, and I don't think its owner will be needing it back."


	56. Never Gets Easier

"Here."

I look up to see a flask thrust in front of me. I grab it and take a long drink, the whiskey burning my throat, leaving me coughing and spluttering. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I nod my thanks to Lestrade.

"Does it ever get easier?" I ask him.

He shakes his head slowly. "No, Hopkins, and you should be worried if it does. All life should be respected, even a criminal's. If you can shoot someone, and feel no regret for it, you are as bad as they are."

We both stand. There is work to do.


	57. Late Night Poetry

**This is what happens when I write stories at 1 AM. **

_**I pick up my pen to try once again,**_

_**at this story that will not be written.**_

_**The words will not fly, whatever I try,**_

_**Yet by a plot bunny I've been bitten.**_

**Thanks to mrspencil, for assuring me I can write poetry. **

* * *

After my day of treating the sick,  
I come upstairs and light my wick,  
Open my book, wherever it falls,  
And write of adventure, of one who knows all.

Stories and stories, no lack of cases,  
A brilliant detective, the dangers he faces,  
I, his chronicler, there by his side,  
Watching for danger, where'er it may hide.

Together we stand, together we're strong,  
Fighting the felons, righting the wrongs,  
With all of our ventures, wherever we go,  
Troubles are sure to follow, you know.

I close my book, and head to my bed.  
No more writing tonight, but sleep instead.  
I fall into bed, and soon I'm asleep,  
To dream of adventure, and mysteries deep.


	58. Graveyard Part One

**Sorry for the long hiatus, but I've been busy with school. I'm hoping to get back to writing more regularly now! **

* * *

"Thank you," the young woman said. "Thank you for looking after him. He means the world to me. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost him."

She paused to collect herself. "You were more than a friend to him, you were like a brother. I should have told you that. He valued your friendship so highly. Thank you for returning him to me. All the times that the two of you left on one of your cases, you always brought him back safely, whatever the cost to yourself. Thank you."

Mary Watson left the graveyard.


	59. Graveyard Part Two

"I've come to thank you," the man said, looking awkward. "You have done so much, I thought it only right to give you my thanks. You have looked after him for so many years. I know that the path we follow is not an easy one, but you never asked him not to accompany me on my various - misadventures. And for that-" The man broke off.

When he continued, it was in a much quieter tone. "Thank you for looking after him."

Sherlock Holmes walked away, leaving behind him a grave reading '_Mary Watson, Beloved Wife. She will be missed.'_


	60. Kidnapped Part 1

**This story is a birthday gift for Rockztar, who asked for more of Azaria Bankers. Happy Birthday Rockztar! The next part will be posted soon.**

* * *

One April night, as the Watsons sat by the fire with their friend, Azaria Bankers, there was a knock on the door of the Watson residence. This was shortly followed by the entrance of Sherlock Holmes.

"This is a surprise, Holmes," Watson said, rising from his chair. "Please, have a seat."

"I'm afraid I am rather in a hurry, Watson. I have come to request the assistance of Miss Bankers," Holmes said abruptly.

Azaria startled. "I would be happy to help, Mr Holmes, but what would I be able to do?"

"It is a rather simple matter, Miss Bankers," Holmes said. "It so happens that you bear a striking resembalance to the Princess of Rygosia. All I want you to do is to dress yourself in one of the Princess's gowns, and attend the ball thrown in her honour, in place of the Princess."

"May I ask why?" Watson inquired.

"I am on the trail of kidnappers, Watson. I believe the Princess is the next target." At Watson's expression, Holmes hastily continued. "I assure you, there is no danger involved for Miss Bankers. The kidnappers will not want her injured."

Watson and Mary turned to look at their young friend, waiting for her response to Holmes's request.

Azaria stood up. "I will do as you ask, Mr Holmes," she said bravely.


	61. Kidnapped Part 2

"Now, don't be anxious, Azaria," Watson said. He, Azaria and Holmes were in a hansom on the way to the hotel the Princess was staying at. "Holmes and I will look after you." He glanced at Holmes. "Well, as much as Holmes will do anything while he's on a case."

Azaria giggled softly, but soon looked away, her stomach churning with nerves. "Are we almost there?" she asked softly.

"This is it," Holmes said, as the hansom drew to a stop. He paid the driver as Azaria got out of the carriage, taking Watson's hand for support. The trio quickly made their way to the Princess of Rygosia's suite. Holmes knocked on the door. It opened, and a young woman peered out.

"This is the Princess's double for the night," Holmes said. "Her name is Azaria Bankers. May she come in?"

"I shall check with the Princess," the young woman said, looking suspicious.

As soon as the door closed, Azaria turned to Holmes. "Won't you be coming in with me?"

"I'm afraid, my dear lady, that we cannot," Holmes answered her. "Watson and I have preparations to make."

Before he could say anything else, the door opened. The young woman from before had returned, a smile replacing the previous suspicion. "Come in, miss. We must get you ready for the ball!"


End file.
